The Wind Beneath My Wings
by Lux Bravo
Summary: Marco's gone, and Jean still finds it hard to accept as he visits the grave site he has made for the boy who touched his very soul. (Oneshot. Rated T for...suggestive themes, shall we say, and language. Warning - This fic contains slash fiction in the form of Jean/Marco. Leave a review if you liked it, by the way, I know I need something to cheer me up after writing this.)


The Wind Beneath My Wings

OOO

In which Jean visits Marco before he sets out for beyond the Wall.

OOO

"Hey, Marco."

His only reply is the wind as it whistles through the leaves. "Long time no see, huh?" This time there's no answer at all, the leaves ending their dance as they glide down to the ground again, nothing more than shrivelled brown shreds in the world where everyone dies before their time. "How're you today?" Silence. Somewhere in the distance a bird caws – it's a crow. "I'm...I'm good. Better than I was yesterday, at least. I've got the expedition coming up next week, so...I'm looking forward to that." Jean doesn't understand why, but somehow, just...just talking to the stone in front of him, 'Marco Bott – A Hero' scratched onto its surface by his far-from-an-expert's hand, is enough to bring him comfort, or a semblance of it at least. He would've liked to have given him a proper burial, with a gravestone and all, a little plot of land where Marco could sleep peacefully for the rest of time, a little place where the wild roses grew, peaceful, quiet, away from the destruction that took him from Jean, _ripped him from him_-

...But, no. That was never going to happen. Not thanks to the Titans, anyway. "I...I brought you a little something..." Jean takes a deep breath and kneels down next to the memorial, the one he spent the whole night making, the moon rising and setting like a white sun before he was done, and reaches into a pocket. They only get rations for one person each, and Sasha (by some miracle of God) offered him hers, but Jean couldn't accept it. If he didn't give Marco his, then, well... It just wasn't right. "I know, I know, it's know much, but I know you like the bread they serve for breakfast, so I thought that I'd bring you some." Hands quivering like the leaves in the wind, Jean puts the bread down in front of Marco's gravestone, making a little nest for it out of the golden grass. "I hope you like it." It's hard to believe that just a month ago, he and the boy whose bones should have been beneath him where still in their training camp, still goofing off, the Freckled Wonder spending hours every day working on his Manoevure Gear, Armin watching, fascinated, as he tinkered with it.

_You love that thing more than you love your own Mom, don'tcha?_ Jean would laugh, watching the way Marco's eyes lit up as he tightened the metal into place, the way they sparkled like light through pools of honey, and they way his tongue stuck out, almost teasingly-

Then he would blush, and giggle a bit, and look away, eyes darting to Jean when he thought he wasn't looking and then flitting away again, as quick as a hummingbird's wings as it flew by. _Don't be silly, Jean, I love my Mom more than anyone else in the whole world_. Armin would watch the exchanges, always a bit confused, always a bit behind, because for all his smarts it seemed like even he couldn't figure them out.

_Oh, is that so_? Jean could see himself now, laughing and getting up off of the table, marching over to Marco to sit by him and sling his arms around his shoulders. _More than you love slaying Titans?_

_We haven't killed any yet, so yes, Jean_.

_More than you love the King_?

That would always get a laugh from him, eyes dancing again as Armin tried to figure out what he was missing – you could almost see the cogs whirring in that brain of his, and then grinding to a halt when he couldn't get the answer for the life of him. _Yes, Jean, I love my Mom more than I love the king_.

_Ooh, isn't someone a little rebel? I like it_. That was when he would slide up close, right next to Marco, feeling his heart pounding through the seat as he brought his lips as close to his ear as he dared to when other eyes were on them. _And do you love your Mom more than you love...me_?

Marco would never admit it, not then anyway, because Armin would always look the most confused at that (after all, what would someone like him know?), but he would always laugh shyly and look away, finding something of great interest in his Gear as his cheeks blossomed an even darker red.

They would be red too, later that night, when everyone else in the camp was sleeping, and Jean would sneak out from his cabin and tiptoe over to Marco's, to make the boy pant and moan and whisper delicious sins into his ears-

But.

No more. Not any more. Never again.

Marco was gone now. There was nothing left of him in this world, not even his bones, denied their right of sleeping silently in the earth below him forever more – they were ashes on the wind now, born and dead on that night, so long ago and yet so close - "I...I'm sorry!" stammers Jean, feeling his eyes grow hot and misty, in equal parts rage and equal parts sorrow, as he gnashes his teeth together and slams his hand into the earth, to support himself more than anything else. "Marco, I'm sorry..." he whispers, as the wind picks up again, ruffling his hair the way Marco used to, since he knew how much Jean hated it, although he could never hate anything that Marco did- "I...I should've been there to save you, I should've-" His voice quivers again, and he has to take a deep breath before he can go on speaking. "You shouldn't have died, not alone, not ever...never..." At first he thinks it's raining, eyes glancing up to a sky so crisp and blue it seems unreal, a little slice of heaven in this waking hell.

Then Jean realises it's his eyes. He's crying, crying for the first time since that horrible day in Trost, when he realised that he hadn't seen the Freckled Wonder since the battle's end, when he saw the corpse leaning against a building in a pool of dried blood.

He can still remember every second. The way the whole world fell quiet and time seemed to stop, the only sound the rush of his blood in his ears as he took one step forward, then another, then another, willing his body to slow down and then screaming at it to stop his relentless march, because he couldn't, he _can_'_t_ accept what he's seeing. Then there was the smell, which stung his eyes almost as much as his anguish then, but then Jean noticed that his brave soldier boy was not there – not fully, anyway. He thinks that's what broke him, in the end, what kept him so calm, the thought of half of Marco burning as the other half sizzled away inside the bastard that took him from Jean, what kept him from crying, what kept him from accepting that Marco is really gone.

Until now. Now the tears come fast and furious, eyes flooding as he kneels in the earth, burying his head in his hands and knees as he SCREAMS-

"I'm sorry, Marco, I'm so so so sorry, I'm sorry!" He doesn't answer. He can never answer again. Jean can't listen to Marco tell him how everything is going to be all right, and he's never been hurting more in his life, not even when he had to go home to his Mom and tell her that her brave soldier boy wasn't marching home-

"Jean?"

For a second – because hope can do that, it can make someone do wild things, wild and crazy things – Jean's heart stops, and his face explodes into a grin as he turns around, expecting to see standing there-

Armin. "Jean?" he repeats, eyes wide at the sight in front of him, at how the camp egotist is all but lying in the rotting leaves in the earth, their naked mother high above them, clothing Jean instead as tears run down his face, never slowing down, never stopping-

"A-Armin," he croaks out, like he's in pain. Jean takes a deep breath, and tries to steady himself, to pretend that everything's fine, because he's Jean Kirstein, he's a member of the Survey Corps, he's going to be going out beyond the Wall in a few days from now, he's not a coward, he's a hero too - "I miss him," he whispers, and he knows how pathetic he must sound, because even he can barely hear his voice as he stretches out his hands to touch Marco's marker. It's cold, so cold to touch, as much as the corpse was when Jean had to carry him across to the pyres. "I miss him so much that, that it hurts, it _hurts_-"

"I know, Jean," replies the blond gently and quietly, because right now what he needs most is what he hates most – pity. "I've always known."

The soldier raises his eyes, sunken and dark, but wide. "You...you have?"

Armin nods, a sad smile ghosting on his lips. "Yes." There is silence, only there is not, for the wind rustles through the leaves once more. "Marco...Marco used to talk about you, you know. When we were working on his Manoeuvre Gear together. When you weren't there?"

"He...he did?" whispers Jean, since he knows his voice, his weak and stupid voice, will fail him if he tries to speak properly again.

"He did. Jean, Marco... I think he loved you." For the second time that day Jean's heart stops as it comes crashing back to him-

_I don't know what I'd do without you, do you know that_? giggled Jean, and he knows he must have been drunk on love or something because since when does Jean Kirstein giggle? He remembers snuggling in deeper under the covers – winter's outside, but in here, with him, there's only warmth.

Marco's smile back at him was serene, to put it lightly – the freckles glowed as he laughed lazily, pulling Jean closer to him, resting his head in the nook of his head. _Seriously_? he would purr into Jean's ear with a yawn, like a little kitten, and then and there the other boy knew that his sole purpose in life was to protect Marco from whatever and whoever wanted to do him harm.

Jean nuzzled the Freckled Wonder's nose – he nuzzled back, the two lovers giggling again as sunlight streamed through the window, bathing them in the golden glow. _Seriously._

_That's good_, yawned the other boy again, sleepy and yet happy, because why shouldn't he be? Everything was right with the world then- _Jehh...Jean...Jean..._

Jean moved closer, raising his hand and stroking the freckled cheek's as Marco's eyes drifted shut, his smile growing wider. _Yeah_?

_Luhhh... _His heart skipped a beat, one glorious, wonderful beat. _Love you..._

Jean wasn't one who was usually lost for words, but he couldn't speak for a full minute then, could barely breathe as happiness surged into every cell in his body, becoming one with him as his own grin became as big as the sky. _Marco, I didn't know you felt that-_

_Zzzz_... Jean laughed as the snore interrupted them, Marco smiling in his sleep – was he dreaming of the boy next to him?

_Oh, Marco_... He had to wake the other boy up soon, but for now, they could rest, could let the rest of the world pass them by. Jean reached up with his head and planted a kiss on Marco's, drawing him into his arms and whispering into his ears. _I love you too_.

That was the only time he had said it – never when Marco was awake – and now he could never say it again, not with meaning anyway. "Do you...do you really think so?" whispers the boy without his other half; the tears have stopped now, a mind-crushing numbness taking over from them, as darkness threatens to drown the world.

"I do." Jean has to give Armin credit – looks like he _was_ paying attention after all. "Marco thought the sun and moon and stars of you, Jean-"

"But it doesn't matter now, does it?" he snaps back harshly, and for a moment he wishes he hadn't, because fear flashes in Armin's eyes and he takes a step back – but no longer does Jean care. "Because Marco's gone, Armin, he's gone, he's a burnt corpse. He's...he's dead." That one single word – that one, _terrifying _word – makes the world stop. "Marco's dead."

Armin is quiet for as long as Jean needs him to be as the tears start again, only this time it starts to rain as well, a light autumn shower that smells of wet earth and comes down from a sunny sky, a rainbow lighting it up as the blond raises his head to look at it. "Yes, Jean, you're right. Marco's dead. But that doesn't mean that he's gone." Jean's expression is too miserable to understand- "Jean, do you realise what I'm saying?" 

He folds his arms under his head again and shakes it. "I don't...I-I don't want this... I just want him _back_-"

"He's still here though!" shouts Armin, the other boy gasping at how high his voice is. "Within me. Within you." Armin takes a few steps closer to Jean and points at his heart. "Marco is why you joined the Survey Corps, isn't it?" Jean's silent. "Right?"

"Yeah," he murmurs, more to himself than to Armin. "It would...it would have made him proud, and... I want to protect him. What's left of him. I don't want Marco to ever be in danger again."

"And he won't be," Armin whispers, crouching down and placing his hand on Jean's shoulder – sparkling blue meets dark brown, darker than it used to be, since that day so lnng and co close ago. "Marco is safe now, Jean, and you can keep him safe by defending his memory – by keeping his legacy. Look." The strategist gestures to the little copse in the woods around them. "He's in the trees, and in the earth, and in the sunlight. He's in the sky, and in the wind. Marco is always going to be watching over you, Jean."

The boy is silent, like he's considering something, and when he lifts his head to take a deep shudder of a breath- "Do you think...do you think he'd be proud?"

"Very," smiles Armin, and there's no doubt in his mind about that.

Jean nods slowly. "And...do you think he knew...that I loved him?"

"I know he did, Jean," soothes the other boy. He rises to his feet. "I'm going to go back to camp now, but take your time." He begins to walk away, and then stops, the wind ruffling his uniform, at the edge of the clearing. "This was a lovely thing you made for him, Jean."

"Thanks, Armin-" Jean catches his breath. "I really mean it. Thank you." The blond smiles and walks away with a nod, and soon there's the not-so-quiet silence in the woods once more. Jean doesn't know how long he stands there, how long he listens to the wind rustling through the trees, how many times he presses his fingers to Marco's name, but then he knows that he has done enough, and he too rises to his feet. "I'm going to make you proud, Marco." A fire begins to burn, deep inside him, begins to take control. "You'll be the wind beneath my wings, and I'll fly all across the world, protecting it, protecting you, from harm." A heartbeat passes. "I love you, Freckled Wonder."

With that, Jean walks away.

OOO

It's a wonder I'm not going to Hell for writing this... It was easily the saddest thing I've ever written. I hope you liked it, though – you can never get enough Jean/Marco feels, can you?

Have a nice day, and thank you for reading this!

- Lux Bravo


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